


Hangover

by etherealApostate



Series: Gravity Fails [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Self Harm, corpse burning, gunfight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealApostate/pseuds/etherealApostate
Summary: After the unprecedented events at the party, Wendy, Pacifica, Dipper and Bill retreat to the Mystery Shack's basement as Gideon seeks revenge. Shit happens.





	

Pacifica stared around the dusty basement laboratory and pulled her jacket closer. Wendy was working somewhere behind; she could hear the pouring of salt and the muttering of poorly-pronounced Latin.

“How long will we need to hide?” She asked, turning to Bill. Bill looked up from Dipper’s supine body on the table beside him.  Pacifica’s heart jumped into her throat when their eyes met – she recognized immediately the diffuse look in his eyes.

Bill was as lost mentally as Dipper was physically. He made no reply, but slowly turned his head down to gaze at Dipper again, and ran one hand hand along the boy’s wind-chilled cheek.

Pacifica knew she couldn’t press it. She again smoothed the front of her dress, but the action held little of its usual comfort, and she found herself standing by Wendy.

“This place is huge,” Wendy said. “Wish I coulda met the guy who built it.”

“Is it… safe?”

Wendy shrugged. “Hope so. I’m banking on the idea that the old guy had a lot to hide when he built this.”

“That was his – Dipper’s uncle, right?” Pacifica picked up an empty bag of salt and looked for a trash can. There was none. She began to toy futilely with the thick paper.

Wendy nodded and finished the last line in front of the door. “His great uncle, I think. Went missing years before Stan ever did. Dunno what happened, but it was probably something like _that_.” She waved in Dipper’s direction.

Pacifica lowered her eyes. “Hey,” Wendy said in a kinder voice, “He’ll be alright. There’s medical stuff down here. And he’s tough.”

Pacifica bit her lip. “I guess. I just know I’d never… never be able to…” She fell into silence. She knew the things she had done were not proportional to the things she could endure, and it weighed on her for a long moment.

Wendy threw her empty salt bag into a corner. “Am I seriously the only one here who doesn’t have a death wish?”

Pacifica chuckled weakly.

Wendy flopped down on the floor and held her head in her hands. “Whatever. We could be down here a while. If this place is as well stocked as I hope it is, we might be able to project some wards to the rest of the house and go out to assess the danger from there.”

“I can’t stay in here,” Pacifica said.

Wendy shook her head. “We have to. God knows what Gideon’s gonna summon this time. Morris, his hunting buddy, they’ve been partners for two years.”

Yeah, considering the lifespan of your average monster hunter in Gravity Falls, Pacifica thought, that was a pretty long time.

“Look,” Wendy said, after a short sigh. “I’m exhausted right now. I don’t do magic, not usually, and those wards took a lot out of me. Can you do me a solid and start looking for medical supplies?”

Pacifica tilted her head and scanned the room. She wouldn’t know where to start….

“Please?” Wendy asked. “I’m to pass out.”

Pacifica turned back, and her brow immediately furrowed in concern. Wendy was paler than usual, and her slightly-parted lips betrayed a slight but uncontrollable twitching.

“—Yeah, of  course,” Pacifica said, snapping herself a little more out of the trance she had to some extent been in ever since Dipper had wrested that rope onto his neck. She watched as Wendy lay down, and, on impulse, Pacifica removed her long black jacket and laid it over Wendy.

“Thanks,” Wendy mumbled, her eyes closing.

“No problem,” Pacifica said, too quietly to be heard. She watched Wendy for a moment and heard her breathing slow.

She looked up just to hear Bill howl in pain. A few feet from Dipper’s table, she saw Bill hopping backwards, clutching one foot cartoonishly.

She said nothing, just stared until he noticed her. Bill finally returned his foot to the ground.

“The—the cabinet,” he said, and pointed at a steel cupboard-type thing behind him. “Kicking them is supposed to work, right?”

She could hear the desperation in his voice, but thought of nothing to say. Instead, she walked to the cabinet, knelt down, and began fiddling with the handle.

It was locked with a simple-looking mechanism. Pacifica pulled a bobby-pin out of her bun and bit her lip as she fit it into the keyhole.

Pacifica felt around inside for a moment – yes. This was the same type of lock that her parents had used to keep her in her bedroom. She had gotten a little out of practice, though, and it took her a solid thirty seconds to click open the mechanism.

She looked back for Bill as she pulled open the small door. He was pacing in front of Dipper’s unconscious body, muttering to himself.

Her heart sank a little. She didn’t know how long she could last here, with these people. Wendy was the only one that she could –

Her thought was cut off as Bill hunched down very close to her and stuck his entire head in the cabinet, searching. At last, Pacifica heard a hissed _“Yes!_ ” and he withdrew with a large leather carpet bag in his hand.

“We’ve been excavating,” he explained unprompted to Pacifica. “There’s a, this secret room behind the cupboard, it’s got surgery supplies, but yeah, I don’t think we need those?” He looked hopefully up at Pacifica.

Pacifica shrugged. “I’m not a doctor.”

A steely look came over his face, like he was determined to have his hope, and he snapped up to stand straight and headed back over to Dipper.

Pacifica slowly stood and followed. She watched as Bill threw the kit onto the table beside Dipper’s head, and opened it, pulling out in rapid succession every medical instrument it contained.

At last he surveyed the contents, then looked back at Pacifica.

“I have absolutely no idea what a human doctor does.”

Pacifica blinked, furrowed her brow, and then picked up the stethoscope by Dipper’s right shoulder. She stuck the little rubber things in her ears, and hesitantly reached under Dipper’s shirt to position the little metal piece over his heart.

“What are you doing?” Bill’s anxious voice came slightly muffled from her right.

Pacifica’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “What a human doctor does. Stop bugging me.”

Both remained silent as she listened to Dipper’s heart.

Pacifica _thought_ his heartbeat was normal. It was a double beat, and didn’t sound terribly slow or fast. But she wanted to be sure.

“Hey, take off your shirt,” Pacifica told Bill.

“What?”

“I need a control group so I know if it’s normal.”

Bill snorted, but began removing his black button-down. Pacifica waited for him to finish, then adjusted the stethoscope against his chest.

She listened for a moment, then went back to Dipper’s chest. Sounded the same to her.

“I think his heart’s OK,” she announced.

“Can I put my clothes back on?” Bill said, a note of hope under the annoyance in his voice. Pacifica nodded and turned back to Dipper as Bill donned his shirt again. She removed the stethoscope and wracked her brain for more medical procedures.

The eyes. She rooted in the pile of tools for a moment, then pulled out what appeared to be a flashlight. A flick of the switch confirmed this suspicion.

Cautiously, Pacifica peeled open Dipper’s right eye. The pupil was huge – and to be fair, in the low lighting of the basement, there was no reason for it not to be, she supposed. She positioned the flashlight over Dipper’s eye and turned it on.

To her relief, the pupil immediately shrank to what looked like a reasonable size. She opened Dipper’s other eye and shone the light on it; same results. With a few protests from her victim, she repeated the process on Bill. Pacifica was satisfied that, to her extensively limited medical knowledge, Dipper was in a stable condition.

“That’s all I know to do,” she said, and threw the flashlight back onto the table.

“What? There has to be some use for all this other shit….” Pacifica didn’t listen to the rest of the sentence as she turned and went to go sit by Wendy.

She settled on the cold floor. Wendy’s breathing was deep and regular, and it rather calmed her. She closed her own eyes for a moment, then opened them when she heard the sound of something dropping to the concrete floor a few feet away.

Bill was hastily picking up a rectal thermometer. Pacifica watched as he stuck it in Dipper’s nose.

“Is this right?” He called to Pacifica.

“Uh. No. Hey, it’s probably best if you just let him sleep,” Pacifica said.

Bill paused. “Really?”

Pacifica nodded. “I think we should all sleep. I feel kinda… drained.”

“Yeah,” Bill decided. “There was a portion of the text that indicated a need for the combined energy of an unspecified number of people for that ritual. Dipper thought it was corrupted.” A brief smile of pride flickered across his face, then immediately disappeared.

Pacifica furned back to Wendy, and slowly lay down. The concrete dug into her bones. She curled into a fetal position and tried to fall asleep.

 

 

Pacifica stirred for a moment, then opened her eyes.

She found herself facing Wendy, and Wendy’s hand was very close to her own.

Pacifica felt a slight chill of… fear? --And then snapped out of it. Immediately. There was no reason to feel anything right now, honestly, she told herself.

She sat up and rubbed the gunk out of her eyes and checked her watch. Forty-five minutes had elapsed.  Looking over at the table, Dipper had changed positions and was now on his side, still amid the sea of medical utensils.

Then she heard something.

Pacifica froze, then reached over to shake Wendy awake.

“’Dizzit, whadizzit,” Wendy mumbled.

“Do you hear that?” Pacifica’s voice was shaking.

Wendy was suddenly awake; she sat up and listened intently. Her face hardened, and she pulled out and cocked her pistol.

“Get Dipper. Get him somewhere else,” she said.

Pacifica stared at Wendy’s turned face for a moment, and shuddered. Wendy’s jaw was hardened in a way Pacifica had never seen before.

“ _Go,”_ Wendy said, as the sound got closer. Pacifica turned and hurried to the table, and heaved Dipper into an unsteady fireman’s carry. She thought she felt him stirring against her shoulder, but was way to close to the edge to set him down, to check him, to try to wake him up like she half thought she should.

Instead, she cast around for a hiding place, and found a wall of heavy filing cabinets. There seemed to be just enough space – Pacifica let Dipper off her shoulder (he hit the ground with a slight thud) and then dragged him into the tight space between the wall and the cabinets.

There was barely enough room to stand, and Dipper was propped up beside her, one of her arms on his shoulder so he didn’t fall. Pacifica realized that she was breathing fast, and tried to slow her lungs.

It wasn’t working. She focused on Dipper instead.

To her surprise, she found Dipper’s eyes twitching; momentarily, he opened them and realized he was trapped somewhere. He flailed slightly in the tight space, then noticed the open space at the end of the row of cabinets.

Pacifica reacted without thinking, wrapping one arm around his neck and keeping him in place.

“ _Dipper,_ she hissed. “ _Stay. Still. We’re hiding.”_

“What?” Dipper seemed to notice her for the first time, looking confused and not a little terrified. His voice was barely audible for its hoarseness.

“Look,” Pacifica licked her lips hurriedly, a habit she thought she’d trained herself out of. That was of no consequence now. “At the, well, before, Bill shot Gideon’s hunting buddy, so Gideon’s probably sending some kinda, I dunno, demon now—“

Dipper looked around, and heard the noise of the elevator descending. Pacifica’s heart pounded harder.

“Bill—“ Again Dipper turned to leave, and again Pacifica pulled him back to her.

“I dunno where he is, we just woke up and there was this noise and he was—“

Dipper shook his head. “He shot _Morris Scruggs_? God, that idiot!” Before Pacifica could stop him, Dipper banged his head straight into the cabinet in front of him.

“Dipper! Stop! Be quiet! It’s—“

She fell silent as the elevator opened. Crisp footsteps echoed from the other end of the basement.

“Come out and play!” With a shock, Pacifica realized this was Gideon’s voice. And according to Dipper, Gideon _never_ did his own dirty work.

She looked to her left; Dipper’s face was twisted in disgust. Hand shaking, he reached slowly into his jacket – and oh god, Pacifica thought, he must be reaching for his gun –

Before he could draw his gun, before Pacifica could stop him, a shot rang out through the wide room.

Pacifica recognized Wendy’s scream, and tasted bile in her mouth.

“ _No,”_ she whispered – but it was eclipsed by a scream from Wendy:

“ _FUCK YOU! THAT WAS MY BAD KNEE!”_

Pacifica flinched at three more gunshots, and then couldn’t help herself – she yelped as a bullet ricocheted off the cabinet in front of her.

There was silence, then again the crisp footsteps, approaching.

“Well, well, well.” Through the slim gap between the cabinets, Gideon peered in, blocking the light and rendering himself a shadow to Pacifica’s eyes. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He jumped up to grab the cabinet directly in front of Pacifica and she heard his feet kick briefly against it before it toppled to the ground. Pacifica plastered herself to the back wall.

Gideon had just finished regaining his balance when Dipper struck, squeezing himself out of the shadows and lunging for Gideon’s thick throat. Gideon stepped back and, his movement betraying his inexperience, whipped the pistol across Dipper’s temple. Dipper fell to the ground.

“You, later.” Gideon looked up at Pacifica. “He’ll be just a dandy little bargaining chip, now won’t he?”

Before Pacifica could respond, Gideon threw back his head and screamed, “ _BILL! I’VE GOT YOUR BOYFRIEND!”_

Pacifica felt her lips trembling. Her eyes too seemed to twitch without her permission, flitting from the prone Dipper’s bleeding temple to the shiny ring on Gideon’s forefinger to the edges of the room. She caught sight of motion in the shadows – her heart leapt – Wendy!

Flannel stained with blood, Wendy was dragging herself on her elbows to get a closer angle. Slowly, quietly, Wendy began to draw again her pistol (Pacifica was in overdrive: how many of those bullets had been hers? How many did she have left? Would she misfire and hit Dipper – _hit me_?) –

“What’re we lookin’ at?” Gideon turned just in time to see Wendy raise her gun. He reached for his own piece, but Wendy fired, and it caught him in the shoulder.

As he fell, Pacifica saw that he was still pulling at his gun. Without thinking, she tackled him and wrapped one arm around his neck and squeezed.

It felt like just a second, but it must have taken minutes for Gideon to go limp, because Dipper was stirring at her leg, and she heard him say with a groan,

“What happened?” Then, seeing Pacifica and Gideon, “Is he – did you!?”

Pacifica furrowed her brow and let Gideon go. “No. I don’t think so.”

Dipper let out a derisive snort, and said, “Go find Wendy and Bill. I’ll take care of –“

“You’ve got a concussion.” He would have to, wouldn’t he, after that kind of hit?

Dipper shook his head. “Not like Gideon’s going to.”

Pacifica opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t think we should…”

Dipper shook his head and cast around, finally seeing Wendy, who looked half-conscious a few feet away.

“Shut up,” he said, and rubbed his temples with his hands, fingers coming away sticky. “Look, I’ll make it clean this time. Go.”

Pacifica shuddered again, then hurried to Wendy.

 

Dipper’s head was throbbing, and every highlight in the room seemed far too white. Pushing the pain back, he knelt beside Gideon and pulled out the boy’s pistol with fumbling fingers. He closed his eyes and wished briefly that he could go to sleep.

With a long sigh, he opened his eyes again – he suddenly wished for Bill. He wanted Bill, wanted Bill to push them into this, so he wouldn’t have to feel the regret of it.

Dipper gently rested the muzzle of the gun under Gideon's chin and squeezed the trigger.

When he looked down at himself, there was brain matter and blood all over his nice blue plaid shirt.

Great.

He heard footsteps from the distance, and suddenly he found Bill by his shoulder.

“Nice job,” Bill said. “He could use a little more decoration, though, don’t you think?” His tone was the usual light wickedness, but Dipper saw in his eyes something shaken.

“Yeah, no, not now.” Dipper jerked his head to Wendy, who was being dragged into the elevator by a slow-moving Pacifica. Something then occurred to him, and he felt the familiar heat of Bill-induced anger rise in his chest. “Where _were_ you? We almost died!”

Bill opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, then stuttered, “I-I was hiding….” He ran a hand through his yellow hair and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just, I was so scared, I should have helped you—“

“Forget me! You should have helped Pacifica! And Wendy, huh, what about her!” Dipper caught a glimpse of Pacifica’s frightened face as the elevator closed , taking her and Wendy up to the surface. “Got shot in both of her legs! _What about them, Bill!_ Or were you too wrapped up in your own god damn existential crisis to do anything but fucking _cower_?” Dipper took a breath, his head ringing from the raising of his own voice. He turned from Bill in disgust. He’d clean up Gideon later. “God,” he said as he walked away. “I thought you were more-- more competent than this.”

“This was different,” Bill said in a small voice. He hesitated, then, “This was… you.”

Dipper stopped. It was true that Bill had never held back, never been cowed when faced down with a gun or a demon or horrifying monsters. But this… this reason for his fear was something Dipper didn’t want to acknowledge, and he wasn’t sure why.

He turned. Bill was sitting against a filing cabinet, his posture liquid and his head hung. Dipper clenched his fists and felt the internal conflict – _comfort him, punch him, leave him_ – rise.

Uncertain what to do, he chose to simply leave.

As the elevator door closed, Bill began to properly sob for the first time in his corporeal life. It amazed him, really; the air filled his lungs too quickly, too far, and his own spittle tasted cold in his mouth.

_Dipper had LEFT him!_

Bill sat there for he didn’t know how long. At last, the sobs eased, and he raised his head to stare at Gideon’s lifeless body.

_How dare he._

How dare Dipper abandon him in his weakest moment – how dare Gideon come after his beautiful Pine Tree – he was wracked with anger. He knew it; he could feel his jaw shaking.

He stood and reared back and let a fierce kick into Gideon’s flabby side. The body shook. Bill screamed, pure rage, and it echoed in the basement. It sounded like a dying hare.

He raised his foot and brought it down hard on Gideon’s torso; he felt the bones crunch under his boot; the body contracted in response and a mixture of blood and bile dribbled out of Gideon’s mouth.

Bill stared at his hands, not believing they were his, and felt the residue of a tear on his cheek. He wiped it off, stuck his finger in his mouth, and tasted the half-warm salt.

Bill’s eye was dead. He walked to the cabinet where the medical supplies had been and withdrew a gallon of gasoline. He poured it all over Gideon’s body. The libation sank to the concrete and ran down the imperfectly-leveled floor; Bill took a deep breath and drank in the smell.

He withdrew a lighter from his pocket, flicked it on, and threw it down directly onto Gideon’s lap.

The immediate blaze knocked him back, arms flung above his face, and in pure instinct he crawled away from the fire. He could not bring himself to look at the flames.

Finally, when the body was sizzling low, he stared again at it, and the smell reeked. Noxious chemicals and burnt flesh made their way into his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and Bill felt his heart constrict. He did not regret it.

He regretted not running after Dipper, not pushing him to the ground, not screaming and begging until Dipper could do nothing but kiss him and bite his flesh and strip him to the nakedness in which he had arisen on this earth.

He didn’t know whether he could have done that, not this time. He was only flesh and blood and dust now, he thought, and this was the first time that it had really failed him.

Bill turned, cold despite the flash-burns on his hands and neck, and walked to the elevator. He didn’t know how he could bring himself to ascend. The people he had failed were up there, the sunlight was up there, and Dipper was up there, both so wounded and yet still twisting a knife in Bill’s gut.

Instead of going up, Bill went to the table where Dipper had lain not an hour ago, and picked up a scalpel and brought it to his cheek. Using a forefinger to press down the tip of the knife, he began to drag, silently rejoicing in the stinging parting of his own flesh.

This was his face. He deserved this to be seen.

He cut an inch along his face and popped the scalpel into his mouth, tonguing it lovingly, licking off the blood and feeling his own tongue split just a hair on the edge. He was drinking the waters that had baptized him into this form. He felt the god he had once been. He ached.

Tongue stinging, Bill laid down the scalpel and returned to the elevator.

He pressed the “up” button.


End file.
